A Distant Romance
by Corkrose
Summary: AU. During Sybil's first season, she meets kind-hearted, political Tom Branson who inspires her to become more involved with her political causes. Despite their circumstances, they embark on an undefined relationship that grows stronger with each encounter.
1. Chapter 1

_So here's my new story! I wish this would not really interfere with A Life of Hard Work, but it will. A Life of Hard Work is more of just fun free-writing whereas in this story I will actually use more sophisticated writing and will focus on character development as well as plot._

_ This will be told from alternating first person points-of-view. This is AU starting in the June of 1914 where Tom works as a mechanic and secondary chauffeur for Lord Merton's brother in London, but he has a good background in politics and social rights previous to this. Given Tom's interest in politics and the fact that I'm a human rights activist, this story will explore many social issues that DA doesn't always go in depth with. Also, I've messed with some details in order to better suit my plot. Specifically, in this chapter Gwen will have left Downton by November of 1913 and Mr. Bomridge's firm is in London. Happy Reading!_

* * *

I walked through the streets of London with no particular destination or purpose. It characterized me as an outsider, a foreigner, an Irishman in a place where everything was carried out with a specific intent or purpose.

That particular morning, I was walking the streets with a dazed expression on my face that signaled that I was in deep thought. I found that I would do that often-simply stroll aimlessly with the purpose of doing deep thinking and dreaming and reflecting. Moments like that relaxed me, allowing me to work for any of my emotionally tiring political causes.

No one would have been surprised that I became the man who I was. From a young age, Mam would always tell me I was too clever for my own good, but she also told me I was a romantic beyond belief. I was not naive by any stretch of the imagination, but I always had deep burning hope of a great life where I would not be plagued by poverty or injustice. I knew that none of my dreams would ever come true-at least in my lifetime,-but I had this deep drive to continue trying so that I could set a precedent for changing the world.

In these moments of internal reflection I felt myself much more honorable than I believed myself to be in reality. In a deeper sense, I hated myself. I always acted more honorable or intelligent than I was in order to cover my nonredeemable qualities, of which I had many. I had convinced myself I was a bad person despite the protests of my family and friends. Somewhere inside me, I understood that they were right-that I was not a relatively bad person,-but something kept me from truly accepting their opinions. It was as if, my sense of reason and my conscience were at an unnatural war with each other, causing me to act cocky in spite of my deep self-loathing.

I often wished that there could be a person who could know me, understand me, and love me completely in spite of all of my personal characteristics that I found inadequate. I had not found that person, and I doubted that I would ever find that person; however, as always, my romantic side kept me from giving up completely, so I decided to enjoy life where I could and make up for my shortcomings by throwing myself in to creating social change for others.

I walked past a large Gothic church when I had to double take at the scene before me. It was an translucent yet overcast day that made almost a halo glow around the church yet the building itself was covered by shadow, and hiding in the shade of the church were several homeless people who were pawing on the doors of the monument, begging to be let in. Adjacent to them were two clergy members, shining with the brightness of the clouds, with smug expressions on their faces gesticulating largely at the monument in front of the church. It seemed as if the two clergymen were completely oblivious to the starving people no more than an arm's length away.

I realized that I had become numb to these scenes of poverty and despair juxtaposed with scenes of cavalier men who were apathetic to the plight of their fellow Londoners. I knew I should not have judged the two men before me, but I told myself that they were hypocrites, preaching for charity and generosity when they themselves did not practice them. I gave a coin to each beggar and was sure to smile and look each one in the eye. It was my way of empathizing rather than pitying.

When I turned away back down the street, I heard a woman's voice say, "You smiled at them."

I turned around and beheld a beautiful woman. Her eyes were bright blue with a certain kindness that shone in them when the light hit them, and I could tell he hair was wild despite being tied up in a constricting bun. Her face overall had a certain brightness and charisma that forced me to stare at her.

"Excuse me?" I murmured.

Her stunning smile broadened softly, "You smiled at them," she said with a soft, admiring tone, "You made contact with them."

I looked down and blushed as she continued, "I've never seen a person do that before-make such gentle contact with beggars," her smile faded and was replaced by a subtle expression of awe, "You treated them with dignity-"

I heard her voice trail off and looked up. She was bashfully looking past me, biting her lip. I couldn't help but smile at this."Thank you," I offered earnestly.

She back at me and smiled again before glancing to the side where a large, black Renault was parked by the side of the rode. "Oh," she frowned slightly, "Pardon me, but I am very late. I must go."

She gazed at me before pulling herself away from me. She ran over and gave each beggar, a coin before rushing into the car and driving away. I watched the car as it made its way down the street.

When my thoughts began to flow again, I realized how strange that encounter actually was; however, the most peculiar thing was what the woman-I hadn't even gotten her name-commented on. She noticed my gesture towards those men, and she admired how I treated them with _dignity_. In that short moment, I had learned so much about that woman, about her outlook on life, her personality, and all I knew is that I wanted to see her again.

* * *

That night at Katherine and Martin's, my sister and brother-in-law, we were having company. Martin's friends from work, John Carlton and Gwen Dawson, were coming to supper to celebrate their engagement.

I had never met John or Gwen before this evening, but so far, I enjoyed both of them. John seemed a very amiable man with large brown eyes that twinkled when he laughed. He had dark, curly hair that was rather untidy, as well as big nose and eyes. He wasn't particularly tall, only an inch shorter than myself, but he seemed to have a build uncommon to men who worked in offices.

Gwen was also very amiable. She had bright red hair which accentuated her freckles and pale skin. Her accent signaled that she was not from London, but she spoke with a demeanor that made me think that underneath her very flexible and calm facade, she had deep passion and determination. However, even more than their personalities, I noticed they both loved life and each other.

It improved my mood greatly to see two good people happy. At this point in my life I found that most people I interacted with, rich or poor, were perpetually dissatisfied with every aspect of their lives. Of course, I believed that everyone should strive to better their lives where they could and even where they couldn't, but this couple, much like Martin and Katherine, had found satisfaction and contentment with their lives; it gave me hope for my future.

I pulled myself away from my thoughts to rejoin the after-supper conversation, "So, how did you two meet?"

John laughed, "When she started, she a good typist and had the skills necessary to be a good secretary, but-"

Gwen put her hand on his shoulder and leaned forward, "Let us just say that I needed a little time to get used to office life. John helped me figure out the ropes around the place and we became best friends."

John grinned and continued for her, "Long story short, we fell in love and I proposed a few days ago."

"It was perfect because my best friend from my old job came to town this week," Gwen beamed and looked at Katherine, "and Kat came with me to visit her for luncheon this afternoon."

"Where did you work last?" I asked.

"Oh, I worked as a housemaid for the Earl and Countess of Grantham at their estate in Yorkshire, called Downton Abbey."

"Was your friend a housemaid as well?" Martin asked.

Gwen laughed, "Actually, no. The Earl's youngest daughter, Sybil, had always been rather unconventional and a freethinker, so she befriended me. At first, I was wary of her friendship because no employer of mine had ever made any attempt to know me before, but she proved herself to be trustworthy and I became her closest friend," she smiled nostalgically. "She actually got me the job at the firm. I told her that I wanted to be a secretary, and she loved women's rights as well as our friendship, so she worked tirelessly to support me. She gave me her clothes, brought me to interviews (even when we got stuck in the mud once), and gave me an amazing reference to Mr. Bomridge."

My eyes widened with recognition as she spoke. "I just saw the Countess of Grantham this week at Lord Merton's house in Eaton Square. I work for Lord Merton's sister and brother-in-law as one of their chauffeurs."

Gwen rolled her eyes, "Yes, I know Lord and Lady Merton well. Their eldest son was always keen on Sybil, but she found him rather...horrible."

I nodded and laughed at Gwen, "I've gotten that impression from driving him around a few times."

Katherine chimed in, "From the sound of him he would be awful for your friend, Gwen. When I met her this afternoon, she struck me as one of the kindest souls I had ever met."

"Yes," Gwen smiled sadly, "Unfortunately, she is here for her coming-out ball. She had always fretted about being married off, and now suitors are lining up to ask for her hand."

"It's no wonder they are," Katherine said, "She is beautiful!"

"But she told me that is the only thing that they see. For most of those men, once they get to know her, they find her unsuitable as a wife because of her rather progressive political views."

I smirked at this. It was a pity that kind young women, like this Sybil, were forced to under the hand of the aristocracy and men even though she was supposedly their equal. I found that the more I saw of London, the more I became aware of the incredible lack of rights women had-no matter who they were. I had never truly had come face-to-face with women's rights in Ireland. My mother had never seemed like she was less than my father. They always seemed to have equal control of our household, even though by law, my father had more. I couldn't imagine my life if my father asserted complete control over my mother or beat her or treated her like she couldn't manage her own life.

"She won't give them up, though," Gwen added after a pause. "She is going to a political rally tomorrow in Hyde Park that is protesting the imprisonment of suffragist prisoners, much to her father's chagrin."

Kathrine looked at me, "I'm going. You should go too, Tom. You love those political rallies."

I looked at Katherine who looked at me expectantly. She had noticed that I had been disengaged lately which I could tell from her constant attempts to get me to go out and socialize. I had no idea why but I had been losing faith in the world, and it was sucking the life out of me with every step I took into this imperialistic society. "Alright," I said, "Lord Danvers will probably have no use for me tomorrow afternoon. Mr. Jones is driving him to a meeting with his solicitor tomorrow."

"That sounds wonderful! I'm sure Sybil would love to meet you." Gwen said.

I smiled politely, and we slipped into a new conversation about a new model of telephone that Martin found harder to pack and deliver. Eventually, John and Gwen went home, and the three of us-exhausted-went to bed.

I lied awake on the sofa, thinking about the woman I had seen today in front of that church. I wished and hoped that I would see her again, but I knew in a large city like the London it was nearly impossible.

* * *

_Oh the irony! So... What did everyone think? If I got some details wrong, please let me know. I hope I can continue going with this, so I'll let you know that this love story will be much faster paced than that of Julian Fellow's creation. _

_Also! Thank you to those who recognized that this was posted all as one paragraph. I really appreciate it!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to those who helped me fix the formatting error on the first chapter. I really appreciate. I only wish I could have changed that sooner! Anyways, this chapter is from Sybil's point of view about after meeting Tom and the political rally. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

As I lied in bed, I thought about my work with women's rights. When I was little, I had always thought that people loved those who did good things. So many people loved and admired Papa because he worked hard to keep up the honor of Downton. It made sense to me: people like good people. However, at a young age, I began to recognize that Papa and Mama were not equal because of her sex, or Aunt Rosamund's laundry maid and her housemaid were not equal because of their races. I reasoned that this could not be a good thing. Mr. Travis had always said we had to love all people equally-that everyone was the same in the eyes of God. With my adolescent reasoning, I thought that people would think of me as a good person if I loved all these people despite their gender, class, race, or creed, but what I did not realize is that most of the people I had learned from were hypocrites. Papa would tell me that he loved me just as much as a son, and would then tell me my place as a daughter. Aunt Rosamund would not make contact with her black laundry maid despite telling me that "we, British abolished slavery long ago so that black people could have the same opportunities as the working class white people." Mr. Travis would read stories about how Jesus loved the Samaritans, the Jews, and the tax collectors equally, but then he would condemn Catholics as inferior to Anglicans.

What I realized is that people who do good things are often ostracized for nonconforming, even in the smallest ways. Papa and Mama pooh-poohed me for mentioning that I wanted to go to a real school. Granny kept telling me that I would wake up with my political views eventually, and Lady Merton would always say that once I realized my place as a woman, I would make an excellent wife for Larry.

As I thought about this, my mind kept wandering back to a man I had seen today. I was driving to Aunt Rosamund's when I saw a man smiling and giving a beggar a coin. I don't know what possessed me to stop the car, but I did and ran up to the man. When he turned around, I realized how handsome he was. He had dark golden hair and a strong jawline that complimented his muscular build. His piercing blue eyes gazed at me, and when he smiled it was a jaunty smile that told me that this man was not timid.

It was not only the man's appearance that made him stand out in my mind, but it was what he did. He did not seem to pity the man, but he treated him as his equal. In that moment, I saw the man's visible reaction of gratitude. It was if he was a child completely deprived of love, and then someone ran to him and embraced him. It was that reaction that gave my work validation.

After a moment, I realized how improper it was for me to be flagging down a strange young man on the street. I blushed in my bed as I though about how I bashfully looked at and ran away from the man, but as I was driving off, I was renewed with courage to face the scornful remarks of Aunt Rosamund and her friends at dinner.

That night I dreamed of my coming-out ball. I was dressed beautifully in white and my hair was actually looking somewhat tame when a tall, handsome man asked me to dance. We spoke about politics and he was smart and intelligent and eloquent. When I woke up, I had forgotten the dream, but I started my day with a lingering sense of contentment.

* * *

After lunch with my friend Imogene, I went to a political rally in Hyde Park. I was swept up in fervor and passion of the speakers. The purple, green, and white that littered the crowd oddly made me feel at home. "An election can not truly be democratic when half of a leaders constituents are not allowed to express their opinion! We, women, run our homes and contribute to society! Why shouldn't we have a say in what our country does with us?" The woman on the platform shouted. Her vehemence and projection made me feel as if she was speaking directly to me, yet the crowd around me was cheering in unison at cries of oppression.

"Sybil!" I whirled around to see Katherine, Gwen's friend whom I had met the day before.

"Oh, Kat!" I exclaimed as I embraced her. I had only known this woman for a day, but I was surprised how easy it was to get to know someone without the veils of propriety constricting conversation.

"Sybil, you must meet my younger brother Tom." She pointed behind her toward the crowd, "He has always been so interested in politics, and social rights for women, the poor-well, anyone really." Katherine seemed quite excited to show me her brother, so I smiled at her encouragingly. "Wait, here. I'll bring him here to meet you."

I waited for a moment until I saw Katherine again, followed by the man I had met the day before. When we made eye contact, his eyes widened in recognition. Katherine pulled him toward me, "Sybil, meet-"

"You..." I murmured, sure I was blushing.

Katherine looked confused, wondering where we could have seen each other before. "Do you two know each other?"

Tom-I now knew his name-put his hand on Katherine's shoulder without breaking eye contact, "Actually, we bumped into each other yesterday in front of St. Swithin's Church, yesterday, but I never learned her name."

"Sybil Crawley," I said putting my hand out as he shook it as Katherine turned back around to listen to the speakers.

"Yes," he nodded and gave me his dashing half smile, "I've heard nothing but your praises from Gwen and Kat."

I felt my face burn under his gaze. "I'm Tom Branson, by the way."

I was feeling awkward and bashful, so I changed the subject, "I truly appreciated what you did yesterday."

He looked down with a flush of his face, but I continued, "My lot never understands why I do what I do, but I think when you did that, I felt like someone understood."

"I'm sure there are many people here who understand your motives," he offered sheepishly.

I smiled, "Yes, but only about women's rights and sometimes I feel as if we are fighting for women's domination as opposed to equality. As a woman, I want to be treated with dignity, not pity."

He looked at me with an expression of awe, "You deserve nothing less-no one does."

I broke eye contact, "So, Mr. Branson, what do you do?"

"I am a mechanic and secondary chauffeur for Lord and Lady Danvers... whom I believe you are acquainted with." He looked away as if he found himself now truly realizing that I was supposedly above him.

"Yes," I said, "I do know them, but-no offense to your employers-they are rather drab and conventional."

He laughed, and then looked mortified, "I should not have laughed. They are good employers, and I am proud of my job."

"Please, Mr. Branson," I implored, "Do not think me unkind. I would just appreciate being treated as an equal for once, and I would appreciate for you to treat yourself as my equal."

I saw his face light up as I spoke, and it warmed my heart. "I'm afraid our society is not much for treating different people equally."

I laughed, "Well, Mr. Branson, I believe that is what people like us are for."

After that we listened to the speakers and settled ourselves on a bench as Katherine read through some pamphlets a woman gave her. We laughed as I told him about my mishap in bringing Gwen to her interview and how I arrived home covered in mud. He told me about growing up as a cocky little boy in Ireland and Christmas Eve when his Uncle Eamon would get drunk, play his fiddle, and miss half the notes. I discovered that we both hated kidneys, figs, and being told to sit still. He told me that he loved to write, and I begged him to make up a story about me. He transformed me into the daughter of a Japanese silk merchant who traveled the world leaving gold baubles everywhere she went. Eventually, Katherine stood up and said that she and Tom would have to leave.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Crawley," he said emphasizing the 'miss.'

"And to you, Mr. Branson," I said, shaking his hand.

"Nice to see you again, Sybil," Katherine said before pulling Tom away.

I stood there alone for a few moments before waving down a cab to drive me home.

* * *

After dinner with my family, I flopped down on to my bed with a thud. I didn't bother to change, but I simply thought about my encounter with Tom. He was smart and handsome and political. I knew I shouldn't have, but I wondered what it would be like to marry a man like Tom Branson. I had never felt so close to the institution of marriage before-I had never had a connection, an attraction to a man before. I was beginning to admit to myself that I was keen on Tom Branson, in a way that was so much more that superficial.

I began to wonder if I would ever see him again, and I realized how much I wanted to. As I schemed and conspired with myself to figure out a way to see him again, I continued to push away the consequences and obstacles that would stand in my way even if I wanted to become friends with the man. In those obstacles, I never even considered that there could be working class people who would disapprove of my relationship with someone outside my class, unlike Gwen and Katherine. Instead, I began to fantasize about my afternoon with Tom as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_Thank you to those who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! I'm trying to think of Katherine's response to how Tom and Sybil behaved with each other. Should she remain oblivious and open-minded or more wary of how they treated each other? Please let me know what you think!_


	3. Chapter 3

_To clear up any confusion. Lord Danvers is Tom's boss, and his wife is Lord Merton's sister. Sybil's friend Imogene who she mentions in the series is the daughter of Lord and Lady Danvers._

* * *

As Katherine and I walked back to the flat, a lingering silence hung over us. I had not seen an emotion in her face or anything in her body language, but the silence screamed that she was angry or sad or a mix of the two. When we got home, Katherine began to pace the floor. "Why? Why did I introduce you two?" she muttered, "Why did I think this was alright?"

I ran over to her, "Kat, what are you talking about? Are you talking about Sybil?"

"She's Lady Sybil to you and," she looked me in the eye before falling to the sofa in defeat. She shook her head, "You can't see her anymore... I shouldn't see her anymore..."  
I looked at her in utter disbelief. She loved Sybil! All she could do was praise her before, and now she looked mumbled her name with complete defeatism. "Kat, what do you mean? You can't be serious."

"I am serious, Tommy," she looked me in the eye. "When I first heard about Gwen being friends with a lady, I laughed, but I realized that Sybil was honest and that it was to some extent socially acceptable to be friends with one's maid. I thought it would be socially acceptable for me to become acquainted with her, and maybe it was-at least a wee bit-but you..." She looked down as if ashamed to look at me, "You have been so depressed lately, Tommy. I thought that you could get excited with this political rally, and-"

"Kat, I did get excited about it. I know I've been-"

She cut me off warily. "That just not it, Tommy. I saw Sybil there, and I guess all that talk about equality must have made me forget who she was because I didn't see anything wrong in introducing you two."

My expression dropped. I knew what she was talking about, and it shocked and enraged me. I understood that Sybil was a lady, but what I did not want to hear is that I was not worthy to speak to her. It was this constant reminder that because I was unlucky to be born to a dockworker in Dublin, I was doomed to be an inferior being for the rest of my life. I glared as she continued.

"Of course you two would hit it off. I realized it too late! You two would be perfect for each other in an ideal world-any fool could see it-but she's a lady. There is no way on God's green earth that her father will every let you even think about marrying her!"

I looked at her with complete bewilderment. "Marry her? I hardly know her, Kat! I like her, that's for sure, but love her? Obviously not."

"I don't mean that, but I don't think that Lord Grantham would be overjoyed to have an Irish chauffeur strolling around Park Lane with his daughter!" she continued, "You can't see her anymore. You are a young man, and she is a young woman, recently out in society-I might add!"

"She's a lady. She has better standards than a lowly chauffeur. Hell, my boss' prick of a nephew is one of her suitors! He went to Eton and Oxford, and I never finished secondary school!" I retorted.

Katherine glared at me. She had always been a relatively open-minded and free-spirited person, but sometimes she could be incredibly difficult, and at this moment, I found her impossible to read. "Hush, Tommy! Don't speak of yourself like that! She was obviously keen on you. Who wouldn't be?" her cold expression softened into the ghost of a reassuring smile. "As for that suitor you spoke of, he probably dreams of being as smart and well-read as you are." She sighed when she saw what must have been a very unsure look on my face, "Look. I'm sorry that I am being so contrary, and it's my fault for starting all of this but..."

I starred at her. She was acting absolutely mad, and all of this talk about "knowing my place" was very uncharacteristic. I began to speak, but she cut me off.

"Marty and I were going to tell you later, but I'm pregnant."

My eyes widened and despite my hostility toward my sister I couldn't help but smile. It reminded me that my sister, though sometimes difficult, was an amazing woman and would be an amazing mother as well. I saw the tiredness in her eyes and felt guilty. She was clearly trying very hard to get me rid me of my angst when she was suffering from exhaustion and fatigue. I looked at her downcast eyes and embraced her.

When she pulled away, she looked up at me sadly, "I am sorry I did all of this, Tommy. I was in such a good mood for a few days, and I felt I could truly help you. I-I forgot my place-our place, and then all of the sudden, all of my idealism floated away, and I realized that I made a mistake."

Tears were filling her eyes. I took both of her hands in mine and looked at her. "Kat, please, no harm done. I think you are overreacting. If anything, this was my fault, but you tried to boost my spirits and you did. I feel much better today, thanks to you, so please, don't fret."

She sniffled and looked up at me. "You're a good brother, Tommy. Don't forget that."

With that, she left me, and I sat down on the sofa and thought. I felt very perturbed about my situation. In the course of one day, I met an intriguing young woman, and then she was ripped from my grasp. I was torn between wanting to respect the equality that Sybil brought about between us and my sister's plea not to get hurt. I figured I would probably never see Sybil again, so I decided that I would not seek her out. As these thoughts went through my head, it pained me. I had not had a connection with anyone like I had had with Sybil in a long time, and somewhere in the back of my mind I secretly prayed that one day someone like her could love someone as insignificant as myself.

* * *

Over the next week I tried desperately not to think about Sybil. I tried to keep my mind strictly on cars, family, and politics, but it seemed she had tied a rope around my imagination and kept pulling it back to her.

It only got worse when I was working on the Rolls Royce, and Lady Danvers requested for me to take her to tea with her daughter, Imogene, Lady Grantham and her youngest daughter, Sybil. I dutifully put on my livery and brought the car around for Ladies Danvers and Imogene.

"How sweet of Sybil to invite us to tea this afternoon. She will be the talk of the season!" Lady Danvers cooed.

"I've heard Lord Grantham has to push off suitors left and right," Imogene added as she and her mother gushed insincerely.

"She's a beauty but quite an peculiar one."

I had to smirk at this remark. She certainly was unlike any woman I had ever met, but I doubted that I thought of her like Lady Danvers did. To me Sybil was the proof that someone could stray from stereotypes that had held her from her potential. However, to Lady Danvers she was simply an oddity-a beautiful novelty in the large conversation that was her life. I felt awful for being self-righteous, but it faded as the car pulled up to the tea room and Lady Danvers began to effuse to the Countess of Grantham.

I stood at attention while they talked. "My dear Cora, where is Sybil?"

"She's inside right now," she held out her arm to Lady Danvers, "Shall we join her?"

As the three went entered the restaurant, I returned to the car to wait with my book. After a few minutes, I saw a figure leave the building. It was Sybil, and when she caught my stunned eye, she ran over to the car.

I decided to keep as professional as possible, "Is there something I could help you with, milady?"

She looked deeply saddened by my tone. "Tom, please. I want us to be equals, remember?"

I broke my facade and looked at her imploringly, "Sybil, I'm working. If anyone saw you..."

Realization struck her, and she stepped back. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think about-"

"Hush," I interrupted, "It's not your fault, but may I ask what you are doing here?"

"Well, you said you worked for Lady Danvers and her daughter Imogene is a friend of mine, so I asked them to tea in hopes of talking to you." She looked down ruefully, "But I realize I should have just talked to Gwen about setting up a meeting for us."

My face flooded with joy as she said this. I felt a boost of confidence and grinned. "Well, you're here now, and I'm happy you are."

Her eyes lit up. "Well, I just wanted to know when I could see you again," she said bashfully, "I want to get more involved in some of the political movements you spoke of, so I was thinking we could meet somewhere."

At that moment, I knew that I could either obey or disobey Katherine, but as I gazed in. "Lord Danvers will be hosting a dinner on Thursday, so I won't have to drive anyone. I could meet you at six then."

She glanced back at the tea room. "Can you meet me at the park next to St. Swithin's? Near where we met?"

I nodded, and she smiled. "I'm sorry, Tom, but I have to go back in or they'll be looking for me."

I gave her a reassuring look, and she turned on her heel and ran back into the building.

* * *

After our encounter, I felt awful for going behind my sister's back, but I felt that I owed it to Sybil to encourage her in her political endeavors.

That Thursday I donned my best suit and strolled down to Williams Park where I saw Sybil dressed casually in a plain white blouse and blue skirt, sitting on a bench. When she saw me, she sat up and waved.

I went to sit next to her, and I felt the effects of her radiant smile on my mood. "How was your day?" I asked, finding all my doubts floating away.

"Quite drab, actually, but I wouldn't want to bore you-"

"Please, Sybil," I said, "We're friends, and as your friend, I am happy to listen to anything you say."

"Well, my mother insisted that I try on all of my jewels to see which one would be best for my ball." She shook her head, "It's quite ridiculous actually. I find that instead of buying me jewels, my family could help the poor and marginalized or give me a formal education, but they find that I don't need anything other than wealth and a title."

"What _do _you need?"

She looked at me quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"You don't seem to want wealth and a title, but what would you want with your life instead?"

She bit her lip and pondered my question for a moment. "I want a purpose," she stated firmly.

"And what would your purpose be?" I felt a corner of my mouth tug upward.

"I want to help people," she said as if I had just asked her something silly. "I want to do something everyday where even though it seems a small task, over time the effects of my work grow larger. Then, after years of hard work, I see people's lives improved, and I can feel good about how I lived my life. I can feel like my life was not just lived in selfishness but in love for myself and others and the world."

I starred at her in awe. She understood what I wanted from life and articulated it how I had never been able to. I had always been cynical about my prospects of ever making a difference-of ever amounting to anything, and it affected me deeply. I found that I had no energy to do the same things I used to enjoy, but Sybil's vivacity renewed me, causing me to feel a sudden rush to do something.

"So, Tom, what is your life lived for?" she asked coyly.

"I think ultimately I want to simply have a happy life, but happy for me is like you described. I want to feel a driving force that compels me to make this world into a place where people like me," I paused and looked at Sybil, "like us can achieve their wants without being plagued by the prejudice that weighs us down." I felt myself awakening my dormant passion as I spoke. "I also want to feel..." I trailed off, wondering whether to open up the door to my vulnerability.

"Feel what?" she asked considerately.

I sighed. "I want to feel like I am worth something," I rolled my eyes up to the heavens and shook my head, "I'm so sorry. I did not mean to be so familiar. You-"

"It's absolutely fine, Tom. Like you said, we're friends and I am glad to listen to anything you have to say." She gave me a sweet and I felt my insides lurch. "And if you ask me, you are worth more than all of the absurd decoration that I have to deal with this season."

I realized how close we were and slid back, hearing my sister's warning in my head. She seemed to notice this because she suddenly she took a strange interest in her hands. "Thank you," I said in an attempt to ease the awkward silence that settled between us, "You really have no idea what it means to me."

She moved her gaze back to me and bit her lip again, making me feel hot, but the mood quickly changed. "What book were you reading the other day?"

"Oh, I was reading _On Democracy in America_ by Alexis de Tocqueville. I actually think you would find it interesting. It addresses some issues that would fascinate you."

"Like what?"

"Materialism, individualism, self-interest, and most of all women in America."

She twisted her fingers uncertainly, "Would you be willing to lone me your copy? I don't think my father would have that one."

I laughed loudly and nodded, and for the first time in ages, I truly felt alive.


End file.
